


Reluctantly Making Art

by wakandan_wardog



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Asshole Ex Boyfriend (Mention), F/F, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Canonical Character(s), Model Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Multi, Protective Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Sarcasm, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: While Yusuf al-Kaysani would prefer to be a hermit in his apartment and get over his recently ended bad relationship (and subsequently worse breakup), he has friends that have decided that is not his decision to make. He might ignore them, except for the fact that they're his best friends AND the most terrifying women he's ever met, so he doesn't have much choice. He goes to breakfast, he goes to art class, and he falls head over heels for the beautiful Italian man sitting as the model. Because of course, he does; that was the plan all along. (Joe has to admit... it's a pretty good plan.)
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 20
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

Looking back on his morning, Joe admits he should have been suspicious from the start. Maybe not as soon as the doorbell rang, summoning him from the depths of his far-too-empty bed, bare-chested and shuffling through his apartment on bare feet. But certainly the moment he had opened the flimsy wooden barrier and found himself face to face with two of the fiercest women he'd ever known. He hadn’t even had the sense to throw on an extra layer, first, and there they were looking fully-functional. All was not right with the universe. 

What was it, that Nile liked to say when something was different in the art studio? _‘I sense a disturbance in The Force.’_

As soon as the barrier was removed Andromache was coolly appraising, peering over her sunglasses at him, the collar of her leather jacket turned up against the chill. The sight of her so polished at such an hour was an ill omen if ever he had seen one. Quynh was expectedly likewise collected, but visibly concerned, her eyes wide and dark with worry as she nervously tugged at her scarf. Quynh had a knack for being a meddlesome older sister. Most of the time, it wasn’t a cause for concern. But _today_?

Joe had tried his best to hold out, to glare stoically at them until they shrugged and patted him on the head and bid him farewell. It had not worked. Instead, he had watched Quynh compulsively tuck and untuck her scarf from the neck of her coat at least three times before collapsing under their silent regard, letting the door drift open wider as he welcomed them in. At least he could close the door once they were inside. The battle was already lost, anyway.

(If only he had known.) 

Scarcely in the door, Quynh raises cool hands to cup his jaw, scratching her nails affectionately at his beard. They’ve never been as close, as easy, as he and Andy, but she’s still a good friend. He almost thinks he can relax in her hold, but when she speaks her voice is heavy with swallowed sympathy and barely contained concern. "Dear Yusuf..." 

Alarm bells he has no recollection of installing begin chiming in the back of his head. Joe thinks it’s probably instincts, and wordlessly grouches at them for waiting so long before kicking in. _Where were you five minutes ago when they were still outside? Sleeping? Too late now._

"Quynh," He pitches his tone to inquiring, rubbing idly at his eyes with the knuckles of one hand even as his jaw remains in her hold. "Andy. I don’t think I was expecting either of you, at least not at this hour? What's the occasion?" 

"Breakfast," Andromache nearly orders, her tone leaving no room for argument. "On us, no argument." 

_Wow, how often have you heard that phrase come out of Andy’s mouth? Usually, she loves the chance to argue, it’s only two steps away from an actual fight._

"Andromache, my heart," Quynh said in her affectionately disparaging way, her dark eyes still fixed on Joe’s half-lidded gaze. "Gently. _Gently_." 

Joe’s not sure how he would react to Andy treating him gently. He thinks, maybe, that it’d be even more terrifying than the appraising way Quynh is staring at him. Worse than the way she tilts his head this way and that, as though considering every aspect of his expression. He doesn’t quite know what his half-asleep face is telling her, but she gives a faint nod of her head and finally releases him. 

“What about that was wrong?” Andy argues. “We both agreed, he needs to get out of this apartment.” 

Which is true, but that doesn’t mean Joe likes hearing it. Maybe Andy said something just to point out the futility of the concept, perhaps because she could tell he wanted to argue and she wanted to cut him off at the pass. Not that Joe could argue, now. It was too late, they were in his apartment. If he wanted to tell Andy 'no' about something, he'd make sure there was a closed and locked door between them first. 

“Fire of my life,” Quynh says to Andy in a way that makes it both endearment and a phrase filled with exhaustion. “Let me get our Yusuf dressed, hmmm?” 

“Fine,” Andy throws her hands in the air, waving them off toward Joe’s room aggressively before throwing herself down on the couch. 

It is unmistakably a sulk, and Joe shoots Quynh an inquiring look, wondering if she’s going to fix it now or later. Quynh merely laughs and walks away, heading toward his room without further comment. Glancing first at Quynh’s retreating back, then Andy’s silent brooding, Joe realizes he’s managed to land himself between a rock and a hard place. All of this, just by answering the door. Why hadn't he just pretended to be out? Or gone back to sleep? 

He gives a shake of his head, realizing there’s only one real option. He shoots Andy a look -not sure if it manages to be confused or sympathetic, he really is terrible at mornings- and hesitates long enough to shrug his shoulders before following Quynh amenably as she threaded her way through the apartment to his bedroom. So that’s what he did. 

Yusuf al-Kaysani knows exactly when to pick his battles, in most scenarios. When it came to Quynh and Andy? Well, one had to be very careful in their choice, when facing either of those two, let alone the pair of them united. Or whatever passed for it in their current configuration of the morning. 

The idea that both Andromache and Quynh would descend upon him with the solitary goal of dragging him out to breakfast was laughable. (When it wasn’t all-out terrifying, in any case.) Yes, they were friends. Yes, of course, they cared about him and would be happy to treat him to a meal. Checking in on him after a bad relationship and a worse breakup made perfect sense. But nothing, _nothing_ , was ever free and painless with them. 

If Andromache had to be out of bed before ten a.m., _someone_ had to pay for it. Today, it was evidently Yusuf. 

Granted, considering that it was likely his fault in her mind, (using the transitive logic of this intervention being about him or at least about his breakup) it stood to reason that the person most likely to suffer Andy’s temper about the issue would be Yusuf. Especially when it was likely for the precise purpose of catching him unawares that they were out and about so early in the first place. If he were to actually think about it, it was perfectly textbook Andy and Quynh that they would make him feel better while making him suffer for it. It made entirely too much sense. 

How gently the would be when inflicting that affectionate suffering depended entirely on Yusuf and how he behaved. It was likely for that reason that he stood passively by and watched Quynh riffle through his closet. Let her shove a handful of items into his chest -a worn-soft charcoal colored tee, a black hoodie, a comfortable pair of faded jeans- and direct him to dress. Trust Quynh to balance her interest in his comfort with his interest in fashion. Obediently he washed his face and brushed his teeth, dressing quickly to avoid giving either of them too much time unmonitored in his apartment. Not that there was much to be had in the way of scandalous discovery, but it was the point of the thing. 

When he steps back out of the bathroom Quynh eyes him in wordless consideration, then deliberately slides one of his caps on him backward. She considers the ensemble for a moment and then pushes the cap around a bit, tilting it back on his head and smiling at the sight of his dark curls spilling over his forehead. “Hmmm.”

“I’m not getting a haircut, next question,” Yusuf grumbles at her, affection making his heart wobble. He’s not as close with Quynh as with Andy, but she’s still dear to him. “I’m not shaving my beard, either.” 

It was an old argument of theirs, but it seemed to settle something in Quynh’s mind. She gives a decisive sort of nod, as if to say _‘there you are’_ , and for whatever reason it makes him feel the slightest bit better about the whole situation. Makes him feel like he’s gained a modicum of his equilibrium back. 

"Right. Perfect. Now, shoes, and then you need pancakes," She directs with a smile, and helplessly he pocketed his phone, wallet, and keys before trailing along in her wake once again. "Pancakes will make it better." 

Joe doesn't see how pancakes would fix everything that was wrong, but he doesn't have enough evidence to deny her either. And he _certainly_ isn't stupid enough to actually try to argue. So, what the hell? Why not? Pancakes. Maybe he'd feel more like himself after breakfast. Stranger things had happened. 

(In defense of the pancakes, there's only so much they can do... and they do that very well.)

Joe obediently follows them to a local restaurant, tucks into an Instagram worthy stack of pancakes, and tries to forget about all the inadvisable life choices he’s made over the last month. Granted, they landed them here, which isn’t so bad in the scheme of things… but some of them, well, he wouldn’t have done it twice. If he had the choice, now, knowing what he knew, he wouldn’t have even done it the one time. 

Andy must be able to read all of it on his face, looking stoic and remote as she slouches in her chair across the table from him and keeps her sunglasses on for the duration of the meal. She doesn’t eat much, but every time Quynh starts to gently poke at him she intervenes, distracting her girlfriend with food or tidbits of information about various topics. It is so very Andy, being kind without showing the world that she can be soft. Joe almost wants to reach out to her, to bridge the gap between them and let her fury at his pain burn away the twisted insecurity he feels. But not in public, Andy won’t let herself relax like that in public, and Joe himself still feels raw and wrong-footed in the wake of all of this. Maybe later. 

He’s grateful for the grace period, at the time. In hindsight, he wishes it had lasted longer. It just figures that things would get worse after the fact. They lulled him into a false sense of security with a deceptively peaceful breakfast, and then sprung the real trap later. 

Yusuf is fully aware that the women in his life are terrifying. He would not trade them for anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that Joe has a bit of a stress response in this chapter, it's a mild mention but I just wanted to give a head's up.

Never before -in the very history of the world- had it been so earth-shakingly inconvenient that College students were so utterly unflappable. On this, Yusuf is more than willing to testify; if only a single one of them could have been bothered to acknowledge his existence, which was not the case, nevermind the more involved task of bringing him a holy book to swear upon. Perhaps, if they were more likely to take an interest in the antics of those beyond their usual social circles, _someone_ would have found it in their heart to intervene on Joe’s behalf as two strikingly beautiful and shockingly merciless women alternately hustled, shoved, and dragged him bodily across campus. Perhaps someone would have seen fit to show him mercy, to rescue him from his fate. Sadly, this was not the case. 

Perhaps, if things were different, someone would have been his knight in shining armor, but clearly, none of the students could be bothered. Evidently, Destiny had something else in mind for him. Badgered to his doom, and at such a young age, too. Tragic, surely his Mama and Baba would mourn him? Well, perhaps not, if Andy was the one to call them and tell them how he had perished. Baba adored Andy, and Yusuf’s sisters would surely be happy to add her to their number. 

To his own detriment, Joe was so caught up in the verbal argument they were having to notice the trap until it was sprung, and his fate sealed. The argument, on top of their physical battle of wills, had him so engaged that all three of them were literally on the doorstep of the Art building before he realized what danger he was in. Standing in that familiar shadow, he suddenly knew exactly what all of this was about. _Oh no._

He thinks for a minute that he’ll be ok, unaffected by the place that was so often his solace. The place that he so often hid out in, attempting to absorb a modicum of peace, at least until Keane’s derision spoiled that too. But as the casual brick facade rose up before him, he feels a surge of nausea so strong he physically loses his balance. The sudden feeling of the world sliding sideways had him throwing on the metaphorical breaks so hard even Andy and Quyhn’s combined efforts failed in maintaining their collective momentum. They staggered to a crashing halt, Joe’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

‘ _There is_ ,’ he thinks to himself as he strains against the four hands planted at various points of his body, ‘ _assuredly an applicable quote about immovable objects or the application of unnecessary force that would be all too well-suited to this scenario_.’ 

However, being as he is an Arts and History student and not a particularly studious follower of Physics, any hope of recalling the phrase has escaped him. Still, it is of little consequence. Aloud, he growls a single reply. “No. No, no, no. There is **_no way in hell_ **.”

Andy’s implacable silence tells him she never expected any other sort of response. She’s more than content to let him spin out his arguments, to wear him down with her quietude. It doesn’t mean she won’t stop shoving at him, but she’ll do it quietly. She knows him too well.

Quynh has no time or patience for the silence. Rarely does she have to be strategic in terms of her dealings with Yusuf, and her inexperience shows. 

“We do not accept that,” Quynh says in a tone that approaches coaxing but stays firmly rooted in stubbornness. Clearly, her mind is made up about this, and he’s almost certain that Andy is to blame. There is nothing quite as strong as a shared conviction, with those two. “Joe, we cannot accept that.” 

“Is that so?” Joe muses, turning a narrow-eyed look on her. 

Quynh, for her part, returns his dark glare with a cool, unmoved expression of her own. He would expect nothing less, Quynh is often unshakeable, implacable, her dark brown eyes unreadable as midnight. Everything from the faint arch of her brow to the slight narrowing of her mouth warns him against foolishness. She maintains that blank expression for several heartbeats without a flicker and continues to hold it even as she frees one hand from where it was fisted in his hoodie. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Quynh’s hand rise, and even as he glares at her he can’t help watching as she slowly extends a delicate finger to poke him in the middle of his brow. Her fingertip taps lightly against his skin, dead center of the small window formed by the back of his cap and just below where a cluster of his curls drapes down over his forehead. 

“ _Boop_.”

Her deadpan tone earns her a not-so-muffled snort from Andy and a glare from Joe. He has no idea what to do with this strategy of hers, can't even begin to see where she's going with this. All he can do is grumble. “ _Seriously_ , Quynh?” 

For her part, the pit viper of a woman gives him a fang-sharp smile and a shrug. “You know, you have to work five times as hard to look tough when you wear your cap like that? It isn't working out for you too well today. Right now, you’re just reminding me of an angry kitten in need of a bath. Yusuf, _Joe_ , it’s us, yes? Your friends, your family. Can’t you just accept that we have your best interests at heart?” 

“That is not an offer for a group shower,” Andy cuts in from his other side, unleashing her dry humor in an effort to soften his temper. 

Joe refuses to look at her, still fully engaged in his staring contest with Quyhn even as he huffs out a reply, piqued at the both of them. However, it is not so often that Andy willingly plays with him, he can't help but spar back. “Allah be praised. If it’s ever on the table? Assume I would prefer death instead. Perhaps even several deaths.” 

“Whatever you say, al-Kaysani.” Andy retorts, and Joe can hear the bared teeth as she shapes his name. “Just letting you know, in case the thought crossed your mind.” 

“Well it certainly hadn’t but now that you’ve put the image there…” He gives a theatrical sort of shrug. “I wish I could unthink it.”

"It would be your loss, you'd be in for the experience of your life." Andy points out. 

"Right before you killed me?" Yusuf barked a laugh. "No doubt."

“Think of how easy clean up would be.” Quynh helpfully chimes in. 

"If you earn it…" Andy trailed off, giving him another jab to the ribs. 

This one is moderately tempered by affection, it doesn't steal his breath. He exhales sharply to acknowledge the strike, not because it actually hurts. There’s a certain smugness to Andy’s silence in the wake of his exhale, and he leans on her in revenge. 

“My heart,” Quyhn admonishes, gently disapproving as she continues to glare Joe down. “Remember he is our dearest friend and your second favorite human on the whole of the earth… And we want what is best for him.” 

“We can change that. I can replace him! If he doesn’t get his ass in that building and start painting or sketching, or something,” Andy’s tone is ramping up to one of her threats, but her hands stay fixed on Joe’s jacket and hip and there’s no way to evade her. “I can make Sebastian my favorite!” 

“Yes, yes, I know,” Quynh begins soothing, the counterpoint in their tones telegraphing how Andy’s threat was approaching dire levels. “But let’s be honest, Sebastian has no hope of meeting your exceedingly high standards for _‘only reasonable man on the planet’_. I think you will have to let our Yusuf live.” 

“Sebastian would never survive as your favorite.” Yusuf points out, once again trying to back up. Andy immediately shoves against him, Quynh following her lead. “I don’t want to go, Andy.” 

“It’s important,” Andy argues. 

Right, Andy, the unstoppable force. 

Unfortunately for his friends, there is just enough of a strategist in him to shape his next tactic. Without a hint of regret, Yusuf al-Kaysani allows himself to go completely boneless. Both of the women in question are accomplished fighters and by no means unfit, but they’ve been so caught up in pushing and pulling his reluctant form that they are completely unprepared for the change in tactic. 

He grins as three bodies collapse into a tangled heap and two female voices rise in stringent disapproval of his technique. ‘ _Flawless_.’

Andromache practically snarls. “Damn it, Yusuf!” 

“Well,” Quynh says, sounding a little breathless. “Perhaps you don’t have to let him live. Perhaps you’ll murder him here and now, and we’ll spend the rest of the day hiding the body. It would be a unique sort of date, I suppose.” 

“Yusuf is not ruining our date by being the body we have to hide today,” Andy argues as she begins to thrash, hands clenched on his shoulder as she shook him like a terrier with a rat. “JOE!” 

Sprawled over top of them, giving an idle sunshine grin at the air above, Yusuf chuckles. “Keep yelling my name like that and your girlfriend might get jealous.” 

“You wish it were that easy,” Quynh laughs. “Remember you are only her favorite when I am discounted, Yusuf al-Kaysani. And if you play your cards wrong… she kills you off and promotes Sebastian.” 

“So I’m out of luck, is what you’re saying,” Joe gives an overly affected wince, ignoring the way it makes Quynh snicker harder. “Wish? No. Not even in my darkest nightmares. I would prefer the dire threats and murder. Let’s go back to the murder.” 

Both he and Quynh are laughing, in spite of trying to keep their argument ongoing. 

“As I was saying!” Andy snaps, now even further incensed. “If he doesn’t get his ass through those gods damned doors, I swear I will murder him, and then engage in black magic to resurrect his ass and we will start all over again!” 

As the metaphorical dust settles, he leans vengefully back into the tangle of legs beneath his hips and digs his right shoulder into whichever body is trapped back there. “I _told_ you, I _don’t want_ to go.” 

Andy and Quynh growl like cornered she-wolves, someone’s hand rising to yank at the hood of his sweater while another other delivers a sharp-fingered strike between his ribs. Breath rushing out of him, Joe grunts in pain, his body reactively curling to escape a second hit. If he had to guess, the rib hit was Andromache, only she can make it smart that much. Quynh must be at least slightly on his side, her tugging at his hoodie is largely ineffectual and nowhere near the realm of choking him. If it was Andy, well, he’s under no illusions as to her mood at the moment. 

Still, it is two voices that loudly chastise him. 

“Joe, we are trying to help you!” Quynh is still trying to plead with him, coaxing and soft. 

Her partner is just getting angrier, and the more mad Andy gets, the more stubborn she becomes. **“Damn it, al-Kaysani!** You’re **_going_** in that stupid building. I will **not** let him take this from you.” 

And doesn’t that cut the metaphorical legs out from under him? 

Any other day, that rise in tone would see a matched response from Joe. But today, today Joe’s still tired from being put through the wringer by his ex-boyfriend, and all he wants is to hide in his apartment until he forgets about the whole thing. No, it doesn’t matter that he’s employed that tactic for the last week with little success. He feels like the weight of his own being keeps increasing, and so he slumps further back into their tangled bodies as he tries to grasp for words. 

Joe never has to grasp for words. Poetry spills off his tongue like sunshine and art from his fingers like rain. But somehow, none of it had been enough to keep Keane happy, and he’s still not sure where that leaves him. Well, aside from collapsing in the shadow of the Art building in a tangle with two of his three friends. Staring down the barrel of a two-week art hiatus. Maybe it’s for that reason that he manages to scrape a few raw syllables together. 

He heaves a sigh, his voice gone quiet. “Andy, I don’t know how to explain to you how much I don’t want to paint right now.” 

Maybe it’s how soft he speaks, maybe it’s how heartfelt and weary the tone is. Whatever the reason, the trapped bodies beneath him go still for a moment, and then he’s being clutched in a hug by four arms that might squeeze the air out of his lungs before they let go. They just barely succeed in holding his broken pieces together. 

“It’s been two weeks, Joe,” Andy mutters, her face pressed against the back of his neck and half-buried in his hood. “Two weeks since I’ve seen you pick up a paintbrush, or charcoal. How long since you sketched? That bastard tried to break you, and he hid it until it was too much work and then he left... He left, but you’re still hurting. I want to kill him. I want you back, I want you to be happy and ink-stained, to make art and to come out to the bar with us and make bets against Booker and win.”

“That was almost approaching sentimental, my love,” Quyhn mutters from under Joe’s chin, she’s wrapped around him with her ear pressed to his chest. Tired and annoyed though he may be, he can’t help but curl an arm around her. “Almost…” 

Andy shrugs, the movement rocking them all as she presses closer to Joe’s back and side, and continues her muttered speech. “I want you to side with me when Quynh and I start bickering because it annoys her and it makes Booker laugh. I just want my friend back. And it might be sentimental, but it’s all true. You and Quynh both know that I hated him. Joe, I hated how he treated you, and I hate that you’re busted up still, even though he’s gone. The cheating bastard never deserved you in the first place, and he shouldn’t get to live now that he’s thrown you away. Are you sure you don’t want me to kill him? Think of how much better we’ll all feel.” 

“My love is a big fan of a more classical form of justice,” Quyhn mutters to Joe’s clavicle as if he hasn’t figured that out by now. “Death is a permanent solution, it’s efficient.” 

“There’s a reason we don’t take her to those ax-throwing bars anymore,” Joe reminds her wearily, but there’s an edge of a smile creeping in. “And we all know how Andy feels about efficiency. No, Andy, I don’t want you to kill anyone. Then Quynh and I would need to figure out how to break you out of jail, and to forge paperwork, and go on the run in another country.”

“Booker could handle the forgery,” Quyhn chimes in, idly tugging at the string of Joe’s hood. “You speak Italian, Booker knows French… I say we start with a whirlwind tour of Europe. Just… If it was needed. Hypothetically? Hmm, maybe we should kill him, Dearest, I would love a vacation. If I let you murder Joe’s ex, will you take me on vacation?” 

“There’s nowhere I would go without you,” Andy replied softly. “Is there anyone I need to murder to make sure you don’t feel slighted by my attention being focused on our Yusuf?” 

“You’re terrifying,” Joe mumbles on a sigh that becomes a quiet laugh. “Beautiful and crazy and terrifying. I love you so much. Both of you. My ferocious sisters.” 

“We love you,” Andy says in that quiet, implacable way of hers. “Which is why we signed you up for this figure drawing class. Please go? Just for the morning? Please stand in an art room with people that aren’t as good as you and at least consider sketching something?”

“Andy has the highest respect for your artistic talent,” Quynh chimes in loyally. “Even if you say there’s someone in there that is better than you, she’s not going to believe it.”

“I’m flattered,” Joe admits. "Even more so than I am by being dubbed her second favorite person. It is possible I need to reevaluate my personal criteria for compliments."

"Second best human and favorite artist is pretty good when the competition is girlfriend and love of her life," Quynh points out with another impish grin and a playful wink. "Quit while you’re ahead, al-Kaysani. You didn't even have to use sex or wiles to get that recognition."

"I have wiles?" Joe wonders, giving her a wide-eyed look. 

“The wiliest of wiles,” Quynh loyally confirmed.

“Stop flirting with the artist, he’ll use it as a get out of jail free card. Besides, Joe would have to go in there and see the other artists in order to even try to prove otherwise,” Andy points out without reservation, ignoring the way they both crane their heads to look at her in surprise. “But I probably still wouldn’t believe him. I know how modest he is.” 

“She is a self-aware creature,” Quynh gives a shrug and proffers a black backpack she’d been toting with a graceful roll of her shoulder. “And she knows you. Here, I packed it for you. We got you a new set of charcoal and a leather sketch portfolio as an apology and a bribe. I will give it to you now, if you promise to attend the class.”

Joe considers the bag and then whistles, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Is there anything you didn’t think of?” 

“No,” Quynh admits, catching his chin in her hand and craning his head to the side so she can meet his eyes. “Yusuf, please? You have not had charcoal on your hands for a month. If this goes on any longer, I am afraid I will not even recognize you anymore. You love your art so much, I just want you to try to remember that… I want the happiness it brought you, _for you_ , not for myself." 

Yusuf stares into her worried eyes for a heartbeat, and then sighs, sinking into their combined hold once again. “Alright… Alright, for my sisters.” 

_‘And maybe myself,’_ he thinks. _‘You can do one class, Yusuf. What’s one class?’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Boop._
> 
> Quynh was so much fun in this.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm just, yeah I'm on this train. You guys can very clearly see this. Shoutout to the Old Guard Server (no not that one, not that one, that's the one! haha) and the beautiful, inspiring people that chatter with me on the daily (you know who you are). Yes I'm juggling a half dozen TOG fics, yes I'm thrilled to be doing it, yes your banter keeps me going. Thank you, I hope you enjoy.


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